Land Of Promise Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-998-X

  Copyright © 2004 by Carol Cox. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  February 1867

  Prescott, Arizona Territory

  Richard Bartlett leaned into the biting wind as he walked along, hating the wind, hating the cold, and finding no beauty in the brilliant streaks of rose and gold that tinged the late afternoon sky. The letter tucked into his waistcoat pocket crackled with every step, reminding him of his dilemma. Should he tell his wife that fool of a girl had written again, proposing a visit? And if he did, how should he break it to her? Letitia was hard enough to please in the best of times, but with her laid up now, and after their recent trouble, she was more sharp-tongued than ever. With his head turned down, chin tucked into the woolen scarf around his neck, he paid little heed to the rugged beauty around him.

  A stocky figure stepped out of the shadows, planting its solid bulk directly in the preoccupied man’s path, not flinching when the inevitable collision came.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re. . .” Richard broke off, realizing who he had run into. His face flushed, then cooled. “Timothy! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” He tried a weak laugh that didn’t quite come off.

  The shorter man adjusted the bowler hat the impact had knocked askew and rolled his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. “No problem, my friend. No problem at all.” He waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture. “You look like a man with a lot on his mind.” Timothy’s shrewd blue eyes had noted Richard’s involuntary start, and the ends of his handlebar mustache twitched upward in a satisfied smile. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat in a comfortable, habitual gesture. “And probably with good reason.” His eyes narrowed appraisingly. “Things haven’t been going well for you lately, have they, Richard?”

  Richard eyed Timothy’s florid face suspiciously. Did a hidden meaning lie beyond the sympathetic words? He drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket and patted his forehead, despising the way his hands shook. “You’re speaking of my wife’s accident, of course,” he replied, willing his voice to remain steady. “It was a shock, naturally, but the doctor assures us she’ll recover in time.” He pressed his lips together in irritation. Did Timothy deliberately smoke those cigars to veil his face in the dense cloud of smoke? Richard wouldn’t put it past him. Timothy seldom missed an opportunity to put others at a disadvantage.

  “Ah, Richard, Richard.” Timothy’s sorrowful tone grated on Richard’s nerves. “I can understand a man having to maintain his pride, even in a situation like this. But you should know you can confide in me.” He patted Richard’s shoulder solicitously. “Walk with me,” he said, nodding across the street to the broad plaza. “It will do you good to unburden yourself.”

  “Really, Timothy, I must get home. My wife will worry.”

  The blue eyes took on a glint of steely gray. “Then let us say that it would be to your advantage to talk to me, Richard. . . and to your disadvantage not to.” The voice sounded no less menacing for its gentle tone. “Come walk with me.” For all Richard’s advantage in height, it was his shorter companion who radiated confidence and power as they strolled across the open area.

  Richard felt his stomach tighten, as though preparing to ward off a blow. How much did Timothy know? How much more could he guess?

  “A lovely place, this.” Timothy nodded approvingly at the square set aside by the territorial capital’s founders to provide a community gathering place. “A natural spot for two friends to cross going home in the evening, but with no place for listening ears to hide.” He slowed and turned to face Richard. “How long do you think it will be before people find out you’re destitute?”

  The directness of the question took Richard’s breath away. “I don’t know what you—”

  “Come, come.” Timothy’s voice registered impatience now. “If you think you can bluster your way through with everyone else, you can try that and see how far it gets you. But you’re talking to me now, Richard, and I know.” He breathed the last word in an ominous whisper. “You invested everything you had in that mining stock Josh Wheeler was selling. Everything,” he emphasized. “And the stock and the mine both turned out to be a sham. And instead of making a fortune, you’re left penniless.” He smiled at the shock on Richard’s face and breathed out another wreath of cigar smoke.

  “Not a pretty picture, is it? You’re a political appointee out here, the same as me. The government has entrusted the running of this territory to the likes of us. How do you think they’ll feel about your ability to manage a role in territorial government when you can’t manage your own money?”

  “I’m not the only one Wheeler took in.” Richard made an effort to rise to his own defense. “There were plenty of others.”

  Timothy nodded slowly, as though weighing the statement. “True. But none of the others invested everything he had in the world. And none of the others had already lost one fortune before ever coming west.” He chuckled at Richard’s gaping mouth. “Did you think no one would ever learn of that?” he asked gently, then shook his head. “Knowledge is power, Richard. Remember that. I’ve made it my business to be a very knowledgeable man.”

  “Just what do you intend to do with that knowledge?” Richard’s voice came out in a hoarse rasp, forced through a throat that had gone dry. Timothy’s love of power was legendary, his use of it notorious. If word of Richard’s folly spread through the frontier community, he would never be able to look people in the eye again, much less hold on to public office. And how many more fresh beginnings could a man in his fifties expect to have?

  “That’s entirely up to you,” Timothy responded. “Personally, I would hate to see you humiliated and sent off in disgrace. We’ve worked well together in the past; I think we can do so in the future. Provided you’re still here, of course,” he added casually.

  Richard fought to breathe, laboring against the tight band constricting his chest. “All right. What, exactly, do you want from me?”

  “Ah, now we’re getting down to business!” Timothy’s face was wreathed in a genial smile, radiating goodwill. The sight turned Richard’s stomach. “You’ve met my son, haven’t you?” Timothy asked abruptly.

  Richard nodded, wondering at the change of subject. “Several times. Why?”

  “He’s the pride of my life,” Timothy answered, “a fitting heir for the legacy I’m building for him. Even if he doesn’t care about it yet.” He tossed the cigar stub down and ground it out with a vicious dig of his heel. “He’s a stubborn lad. At the moment, he tells me he doesn’t have an interest in politics, but that will change. And when it does, all the groundwork I’ve laid will be waiting for him. He’ll be able to step right into a life of power, wealth, and influence.” His voice trailed off, and he stood staring at the darkening sky as if watching his words become reality.

  Richard shifted uncomfortably. “But what does that have to do with—”

  “Up to now,” Timothy continued as if Richard hadn’t spoken, “he’s shown no interest in marriage, but mark my word, it’s only a matter of time
until some woman realizes what a catch he is and sets her sights on him. When that happens, I don’t want to see him as the target of one of these backwoods bumpkins. I won’t have it!” Timothy’s eyes glittered menacingly. “He needs a wife who will be an asset to him, who knows how to move in the right social circles, not one of the pathetic rubes you’ll find around here.”

  “I still don’t see—”

  “I need a girl,” Timothy stated. “And you’re going to provide one for me.” He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter at Richard’s look of utter astonishment, his ample stomach shaking beneath the gaudy vest. “Think it through,” he commanded. “You have connections back in Philadelphia, and at the moment, you still have a reputation worth upholding. Surely you know some girl of good family who would be a match for my boy. One of refinement, whose background would enhance his political career.”

  He watched the unbidden play of emotions on Richard’s face and smiled serenely. “I thought so. Then here is the bargain: Get her out here to Arizona Territory. You could use your wife’s injuries as an excuse. Arrange for her to meet my son. Tell her what a bright future he has.”

  Timothy’s voice dropped to a murmur so low that Richard had to strain to hear him. “Help them get acquainted. Give them every opportunity to spend time together. She’ll be such a contrast to the backward females he sees here, he’ll be captivated by her. And if you do your job well, I expect her to be equally fascinated by the prospect of marriage to him.

  “Make that marriage a reality, Richard, and not only will I hold my tongue about your disastrous financial blunder, but I will reward you handsomely.” He leaned forward and named a sum large enough to make Richard’s eyes bulge.

  Timothy eyed his companion closely, then nodded. “That is our arrangement. I get what I want; you get what you want, and no one is the wiser. Are we agreed?”

  Richard’s mind reeled. To go from the threat of exposure to the promise of restored wealth! To be able to offer Letitia the means of recouping their loss and getting back on their feet without losing face! She would grasp the opportunity as eagerly as he.

  “Agreed,” he said and shook Timothy’s hand in a firm grip. He turned away and started for home once more, wiping his palm on his pant leg as soon as he was sure Timothy’s back was turned. Once again, he patted his vest pocket, feeling the reassuring crackle of the letter, and smiled for the first time in weeks.

  One

  March 1867

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Elizabeth Simmons closed her bedroom door behind her and moved to the head of the curving staircase, casting a scornful glance at the glittering scene below. Brilliant ball gowns glowed like jewels on a black cloth against the men’s dark evening dress, and the murmur of refined voices rose to Elizabeth’s ears. The cream of Philadelphia society was present tonight, a coup that would further enhance her mother’s already high social standing.

  Mama must be delighted, she thought sourly. Elizabeth surveyed the spectacle from her vantage point, wanting to delay her descent as long as possible. Empty words, empty minds, empty people. What a waste of an evening!

  A slender figure in emerald velvet hurried to the foot of the stairs. “Elizabeth, come quickly!” Her sister Carrie’s urgent voice floated upward. Light from the chandeliers caught the reddish glints in the young girl’s hair, turning them to threads of burnished copper. “Mama’s been asking and asking where you are, and she’s beginning to get very cross.”

  Elizabeth watched her sister swirl back into the eddy of activity and gave a sigh of resignation. Like it or not, her presence was demanded. She moved down the staircase, the rustle of her sapphire satin gown barely audible over the swell of voices and the strains of music drifting from the ballroom.

  Elizabeth braced herself for the ordeal of taking part in the mindless chatter that was a standard feature of her mother’s social affairs. Seeing one of her mother’s closest friends hovering at the foot of the stairs, she forced a smile. “Good evening, Mrs. Stephens. How nice to see you here.”

  “How nice of you to make time to come down and join us,” the older woman returned with a glacial stare. “Really, Elizabeth, it’s too bad of you. You know how much tonight means to your mother. After all the preparations the poor woman has made to ensure the success of this evening, you might at least make an effort not to embarrass her by your tardiness. Come along,” she ordered, gripping Elizabeth’s elbow with a proprietary air and propelling her forward. “You must let her know at once that you’ve decided to grace the festivities. The poor woman is quite distraught.”

  “Oh, you’ve found her.” Both women turned at the sound of the rich baritone voice, and Elizabeth brightened at the sight of her neighbor, James Reilly.

  “I’ve come to make sure Elizabeth is mingling with the guests. Would you be kind enough to let Mrs. Simmons know she has come down while I escort her to her duties?” James bent over Mrs. Stephens’s blue-veined hand in a courtly gesture. “And may I say just how stunning you look tonight?”

  Elizabeth’s lips twitched in amusement at the sight of her unwelcome chaperone simpering with delight at James’s attention. The older woman sailed off to carry the message to her friend, and James steered Elizabeth through the crowd.

  “However did you manage to appear on the scene at just the right moment?” she asked, weaving her way through the sea of frock coats and voluminous skirts. “I wouldn’t have been able to hold my tongue one second longer.”

  James threw back his head and laughed, drawing an admiring glance from more than one of the young ladies they passed. “You’ve never held your tongue about any issue you felt strongly about in all your life.” He tucked her hand more firmly into the crook of his arm and gave it a squeeze. “It’s one of the things I value most about you.”

  “I suppose you expect me to be grateful for that insufferably condescending remark?” Elizabeth sniffed, attempting a show of indignation belied by the curve of her lips. “Never mind. You do deserve some gratitude for rescuing me.”

  “Rescuing Muriel Stephens, you mean,” James countered with a chuckle. “She’ll never know what a narrow escape she had. Besides, if you’ll recall, you once promised to marry me. That gives me a vested interest in your welfare.”

  Elizabeth snorted. “If you’ll recall, that promise was made when I was all of four years old, and you were six. You’re hardly likely to hold me to it now. Besides, you know very well I’m much too strong-minded for you.” She turned left, toward the ballroom, then frowned when James guided her in the opposite direction. “Where are we going?”

  “I promised you’d be mingling dutifully with the guests. But I didn’t say which guests, did I?” James smiled, opening the library door and ushering Elizabeth inside.

  “Here she is,” he announced. A fire crackled in the hearth, silhouetting the two men who rose to bow in greeting. “Elizabeth, may I introduce Thomas Brady and Elliot Carpenter? Gentlemen, this is Miss Simmons.”

  “So this is the woman who has more on her mind than her next visit to the dressmaker?” Thomas Brady took the hand Elizabeth offered and quirked an eyebrow in James’s direction. “You neglected to tell us she is also a delight to the eye, James.”

  Elizabeth snatched her hand away. “Don’t praise my mind in one sentence, then insult my intelligence in the next, Mr. Brady. I’m quite aware of my physical shortcomings. My eyes and hair are a dreary brown, and I’m far too short of stature to be considered attractive, let alone beautiful. Fortunately, my value as a woman and as a child of God rests in my character and not my physical attributes.”

  Thomas Brady stood speechless, and James hooted with laughter at his friend’s discomfiture. “I did mention that she was outspoken, didn’t I?”

  “And as always, you are a man of your word,” Thomas agreed, finding his voice again. “Miss Simmons, please accept my apology for what must have seemed gratuitous flattery. I would take issue with your assessment of yourself if I didn�
�t fear offending you again, but I must say I am thoroughly intrigued, and I look forward to hearing the views of a woman of your perspicacity. And that,” he said, raising his hand solemnly, “is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

  Elizabeth searched his face, wondering if she were being made the butt of a masculine joke, but found no sign of duplicity. She smiled and extended her hand to his companion. “And you, Mr. Carpenter? Are you willing to exchange views with a mere woman?”

  “I believe we shall meet on equal footing,” he responded with a laugh. “Or if we do not meet as equals, it will be because your intelligence surpasses ours. I can see that I shall need to have all my wits about me so I am not totally outclassed.”

  “Shall we all sit down?” James asked as easily as if he were the master of the house. “Thomas, Elliot, and I have been discussing the issue of women’s suffrage. I thought you could give us an articulate woman’s view of the subject.”

  Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be a bore, after all. With a sense of anticipation, she settled herself in her father’s favorite leather chair, prepared to hold forth on a cherished topic. The men drew up chairs in a semicircle facing hers, the two visitors placing theirs at a cautious distance. Elizabeth clasped her hands in her lap, back erect, and looked at her audience like a professor inspecting a new class of pupils.

  “Giving women their due is hardly a new idea,” she began. “Nearly thirty years ago, two American women went to the World Anti-slavery Convention in London. They were bona fide delegates, but because they were women, they were not allowed to participate. Imagine traveling all that way for such a worthy cause, only to be told you had to sit in a curtained-off area away from those taking an active part, merely because the people in charge didn’t approve of your gender!”

  She scrutinized each face, seeking their reactions. James nodded encouragingly, having heard this discourse before. Elliot Carpenter sat with his chair turned slightly away from her, propping his chin on one hand. His expression was carefully neutral, but Elizabeth thought she detected an amused glint in his eyes. Thomas Brady leaned forward, elbows on his knees, apparently weighing her words carefully. She focused her attention on him.